


In the Dark

by CommonNonsense



Series: Overwatch Ficlets [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 00:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17090507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommonNonsense/pseuds/CommonNonsense
Summary: They can't even see each other's faces the first time they share a kiss, and the only thing worse than that is not even getting to see after.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on two kiss prompts from Tumblr that ended up going together: "In the dark kiss" and "a kiss we had to wait for."

The average adult human breathes twelve to sixteen times per minute.

Hanzo counts his breaths on the median: every fourteen is a minute. In this way, he estimates that he and McCree have been in this room for just over three hours.

There is no other way for him to measure time; the room is dark as pitch, utterly lightless and silent. He cannot tell where they are, what shares the space with them, or even how large the room is. A pair of Talon soldiers had shoved him up against a wall with his hands firmly tied behind his back, thrown McCree beside him, and slammed the door shut, taking all signs of light and life with them. 

Beside him, McCree breathes, each inhale and exhale just barely audible. He’s matched the rhythm of Hanzo’s breathing, whether consciously or not. His shoulder pushes into Hanzo’s a little more with each inhale, and falls away as he breathes out. There is space to Hanzo’s right--he could scoot over, if he so chose, but McCree’s warmth and solidity are the only things he can feel besides the cold concrete under and behind him.

“Think the team’ll find us?” McCree asks, breaking the silence that has reigned for the past hours.

Hanzo is not certain. Certainty is a luxury they are not rarely afforded. “I believe so,” he says. “We activated our beacon soon enough, and I do not believe Talon took us very far.”

McCree’s response is a grunt. “Maybe,” he then says. “Or maybe not. Talon might just walk through the door and shoot us in cold blood before anyone gets here.”

“Also a possibility, I suppose.”

McCree shifts again. He can only move so far with his hands behind his back. He likes to fidget, when he is able; Hanzo imagines the forced stillness must be particularly agitating. 

“Sorry,” McCree mutters. “This place is really givin’ me the creeps. Anywhere else, I’d be thinkin’ of how to get out, but here . . . really feels like we’re all alone, just waitin’ for the end.”

“It does,” Hanzo agrees quietly.

Another six breaths pass. McCree breaks their rhythm, inhaling a deep breath through his nose. “Just in case,” he says, “I think--I think I’d like to say somethin’, if that’s alright. While I still got the chance and I can’t chicken out.”

Hanzo hesitates. He looks in McCree’s direction, though of course he cannot see the man. “Is something wrong?” he asks. 

“Not so much,” McCree says. “Just figure it’ll be a bit easier now, if I can’t see you get mad at me. Shit, I’ll even use the real words for it, ‘stead of the ones I figure would make you less mad. I don’t expect anything, by the way, but I just wanna have it said.”

Hanzo’s heart starts to race, beating so loudly McCree must be able to hear it in the silence of the room the same way he can hear the nervous shudder of McCree’s next breath. “What?”

“I, uh.” Another pause. A rustle and a scrape as McCree shifts. “I might be a little bit in love with you.”

He sounds remarkably calm, despite his hesitation. Perhaps it is their surroundings, enforcing a certain calmness. Hanzo expects to be overwhelmed by the revelation, but finds himself oddly at peace with no more than a strange sense of acceptance and a little burst of joy in his chest.

“Oh,” Hanzo says.

McCree’s laugh is dry, humorless. “I know I said I wasn’t expecting much,” he says, “but I was hopin’ for a little more of a reaction than that.” 

“Apologies. I am just . . . surprised.” 

“I figured you might be.” McCree swallows hard; Hanzo can hear the click of McCree’s throat. “But what I can’t figure is how you feel about that.”

McCree’s right--it is easier to say when they cannot see one another. Hanzo feels little fear at all as he replies, “I feel the same.”

There is a beat of silence, then a weak, relieved laugh. “Well then,” McCree says. “Ain’t that somethin’.”

“Yes,” Hanzo says, unable to suppress a smile. “Isn’t it.”

McCree laughs again, ending on a resigned sigh and the a dull thunk that sounds like a skull meeting concrete. “Jesus,” he says. “Ain’t this the best time to come up with all that. Stuck here, hog-tied in the ass end of nowhere, and I can’t even look at your pretty face.”

“Jesse?”

“Yeah.”

“Look at me.”

A pause. “Um,” McCree says, and Hanzo can hear the smile in his voice. 

Hanzo chuckles once. “I know. Just do it anyway.”

He feels McCree shift, and his weight leans a little more heavily into his shoulder. “Alright,” McCree says. “There’s that, I guess.”

Hanzo makes a guess. He leans in slowly, carefully, guessing where McCree’s face must be in the darkness. The tip of his nose bumps against McCree’s. McCree sucks in a breath, realizing. Hanzo waits. 

Then: a soft puff of breath against his face as McCree exhales, the graze of McCree’s straight nose down the side of his own.

The sharp edge of a cheekbone as Hanzo pushes forward a fraction of an inch more, brushes his lips down the first skin he finds. 

The scratch of his beard scraping briefly against McCree’s, deafening in the quiet.

By the time their lips meet, Hanzo has already closed his eyes, and the darkness becomes irrelevant.

The first kiss is feather-light, questing, each of them feeling out where the other is and testing the new waters. The second is more certain, but no less tender. Without the distraction of sight, every sound and sensation is magnified tenfold--the rustle of their clothing as they press closer to one another, the press of McCree’s nose into Hanzo’s cheek, the soft sounds of their lips as they part only to come together again--all of it takes on a new layer of meaning, focus narrowed down to only the sensations shared between them. 

The kiss comes to a natural end. McCree’s forehead presses against his, as though he cannot bear to be too far away. His hair falls forward and brushes against Hanzo’s skin.

“Wish I could see your face right now,” McCree murmurs. 

Hanzo smiles fondly, unable to help himself. “It is no different than it was before we arrived here,” he points out. 

“Maybe not technically, but . . . hell, I don’t think it’s so wrong to wanna see your face after kissin’ you, is it?”

Hanzo barely manages to restrain a ridiculous grin. “Soon,” he says softly. McCree tips forward to kiss him again, and even without his sight, he can feel McCree smiling too. 


	2. Chapter 2

Their first kiss is shared in the eerie, unnatural darkness of a Talon holding cell, and is interrupted unceremoniously by two of Overwatch’s most rambunctious members--Lena and Reinhardt--bursting through the door like the world’s most ill-timed cavalry. 

Not that McCree’s ungrateful, of course, because he and Hanzo were in a  _ Talon holding cell _ for what Hanzo informs him was about three and a quarter hours--how he knew that, McCree forgets to ask--and it’s the last place he wants to be. Still, there’s no experience quite like being interrupted while finally getting to kiss someone you’ve spent the better part of a year pining after by an enthusiastic Lena shouting, “Don’t worry loves, the cavalry’s--are you  _ snogging?! _ ”

The team hauls him and Hanzo to their feet and uncuffs their hands, but even though the first thing McCree wants to do with his newfound freedom is pull Hanzo in and kiss him for all it’s worth, there are more pressing matters--like getting out of the Talon base before they’re all found and killed. He exchanges a brief look with Hanzo, a wordless promise to come back to this soon, before weapons are shoved into their hands and they’re sprinting off down the halls. 

It’s bad enough having to sit through Angela’s examination on the shuttle back, and then watch Hanzo sit through his, while the rest of the team tries and fails not to stare at them. It’s bad enough that he falls asleep within three minutes of sitting down on a bench, and doesn’t even manage to sit by Hanzo for it.  _ It’s bad enough _ that they have to go through all the unloading and debriefing and questions even when they get back, but once that’s all said and done, Angela announces that he and Hanzo are to be confined to their dorms for monitoring for the next day.

“Are you shitting me?” McCree exclaims. “Angie, be reasonable, they didn’t--”

“I know you said they did nothing to you,” Angela sighs. Her expression is regretful, but her mouth is set in a determined line. “But you and I both know how badly it could go if we’re wrong, and they still dosed you with something before they captured you. You’re right that it’s probably nothing, but Winston and I agree that we should monitor the both of you just to be safe.”

McCree can’t find an argument after that. He remembers Gerard, too. Still, one look at Hanzo as he’s leaving the comm room, getting further away with each second, and he can’t stop himself.

“Angie, please,” he says, and he knows he’s pleading. “I gotta take care of something important, alright?”

“Yes, Lena mentioned how she found you and Agent Hanzo,” Angela says dryly. But her expression softens a little as she looks at McCree, and she says, “I know you want to be with him right now, Jesse, but we’re also trying to make sure the two of you are safe.”

McCree relents, only because the thought of harming Hanzo is utterly terrifying even if he doubts it will happen. Angela sticks a monitoring device to the inside of his right wrist and instructs him to leave it on at all times, and he is sequestered in his dorm for a full 24 hours. 

He doesn’t even manage half an hour before he picks up his phone and texts Hanzo. 

_ To: Hanzo 19:32  
_ _ So this basically wins the award for the most poorly timed thing to ever happen _

His phone beeps a few minutes later, surprisingly soon for Hanzo’s typical texting habits. It makes his stomach flutter a little to think Hanzo might have been waiting. 

From: Hanzo 19:35  
_ Indeed. If there truly is an award for such things. _

To: Hanzo 19:36  
_ There is now. I’m giving it one. “World’s worst fucking timing for two people to be sent to their rooms like toddlers” award _

From: Hanzo 19:36  
_ Do toddlers frequently have to be evaluated for possible brainwashing? _

To: Hanzo 19:37  
_ Probably not, but you never know. Kids are surprisingly devious _

He starts to compose another text, hesitates, decides there’s no reason to be coy after dumping out his heart onto the floor of a terrorist holding cell and making out with the object of his affections for a few minutes after, and hits send. 

To: Hanzo 19:38  
_ Really wish I could see you, though. After what happened earlier. Can’t stop thinking about kissing you again _

The response doesn’t come for a long time, but it makes McCree grin at his phone until his cheeks hurt.

From: Hanzo 19:45  
_ The feeling is mutual, I assure you _ .

McCree goes to bed early, unable to find anything else to occupy his time. He is kept awake nearly an hour past that by the memory of that afternoon’s kiss, playing on repeat in his mind, but eventually falls asleep smiling. 

The next day crawls by in a manner he had not known time physically could. Angela updates him at 7:00 AM sharp that both his and Hanzo’s vitals have been stable and they have exhibited no strange behavior, but they still have another twelve hours to go.  _ You can see him at 7:30 _ , she says over the comm, because apparently McCree has become utterly transparent. He grumbles a thanks and hangs up on her laughter. 

He cleans Peacekeeper. He cleans up his dorm, not that there’s much to clean. He texts a little with Hanzo about how bored they both are, but can’t bring himself to mention what happened the day before--and neither, apparently, can Hanzo. He naps for a couple of hours, does some crunches and some push-ups to feel like he did something besides lie around, reads some articles on the net, and tries to think about anything other than Hanzo for more than three consecutive seconds.

When the clock ticks over to 7:00, he decides he might as well have a shower and make himself presentable. He washes and dresses and grooms perfunctorily, glancing at his phone every minute while his stomach threatens to climb up his throat.

At 7:30, the phone pings with Angela’s blessing to leave his dorm. 

At 7:31, someone knocks on his door twice. McCree takes a deep breath, steeling himself, before he opens the door. 

Hanzo stands on the other side. He looks freshly-showered, too, his hair still slightly damp and pulled over his shoulder, dressed down in a pair of jeans and a soft t-shirt that clings unfairly to every muscle in his chest. 

“Hey,” McCree says. 

“Hello.”

They both hesitate, standing at the threshold, but only for a moment. Hanzo opens his mouth to speak, but he only manages “I--” before McCree breaks and reaches out. He is relieved when he feels Hanzo’s hands on his neck and hip, too quick to track but unmistakably dragging him in, down,  _ there. _

Their kiss in the dark of the holding cell had been something unique, a little surreal and intense, but this is what McCree has been waiting for: no hesitation, no uncertainty, with all the freedom to see and touch and take. Hanzo seems to feel the same by the way he sinks his hand into McCree’s hair and winds his fingers through, wrapping his other arm solidly around McCree’s back to pull them close together. He takes Hanzo’s face between both hands, strokes his thumbs down soft, shower-warm skin, and kisses back with everything he has. 

When they break apart, McCree is quick to open his eyes so he can see Hanzo’s face, and he is not disappointed; he follows after McCree a little as though to catch him again, his lips still slightly pursed for a kiss, and his eyes, when he opens them, are dark and hooded. He seems a little dazed as he meets McCree’s gaze, and he smiles, slow and content. McCree didn’t think his heart could melt any further for this man but that smile somehow makes it happen.

“What?” Hanzo asks when McCree has stared at him for too long a moment. 

“Nothin’,” McCree replies. He brushes a kiss against the corner of Hanzo’s mouth. “Just wanted to see what you looked like after I kissed you, like I said before.”

“Oh?” Hanzo’s smile widens. McCree wants to kiss it from his lips. “Was that worth the wait, then?” 

“Every damn second,” McCree says. Hanzo snorts like he’s said something funny, but he leans up anyway, catches McCree’s mouth in another kiss, reaches out behind him to hit the  _ close _ button on the door, and McCree figures it’s all okay. 


End file.
